


darling heart

by scrapbullet



Category: Body of Lies (2008)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:30:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"You are very adept at this, Mr Ferris,"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	darling heart

"Hold still."

Sure and steady Roger drags the wicked blade of a razor over soap-slick flesh, following the sharp, masculine contour of the jaw as he carefully removes three days worth of stubble with a skilled hand. There is more to this than simple grooming, more to this than the gentle control he exerts over an instrument that can bite deep and slit throats if he were so inclined, more to this even than the trust he holds so fragile in his hands, braced between Hani's knees.

It is something tangible, something _real_ that Roger is loathe to define.

Hani smells like white musk mixed with Taif rose. He smells like the warm Jordanian sun and the sharpness of shaving cream, like heat and sand and home. He is the searing rays in daylight and the cool whisper of a breeze in the night, and for the first time in a score of long, desperate years Roger feels at peace with himself, at peace with his life in Amman.

"You are very _adept_ at this, Mr Ferris," Hani rumbles, and his voice is roughened with sleep, eyes languid and limbs loose and casual. Long fingers rest on Roger's bare hips, if only for an excuse to _touch_ , long fingers that idly brush over the sharp hip bone causing Roger to squirm and falter, nicking tanned flesh carelessly. Blood wells forth and hangs for but a mere moment in time before it falls, and Roger catches it with his tongue, soothing the injury with warm lips, the taste sharp on his palate.

"I'm sorry Hani, my hand slipped-" he breathes, scowls and sets the razor blade down to dab carefully at the wound with a damp cloth, biting his lower lip in concentration.

Hani smiles and it is enough to make Roger's heart clench tight in his chest, a smile that by all rights does not belong to him. "Do not concern yourself with it, my dear," he says, and "kiss me," strong fingers locking onto Rogers chin and guiding him forth, guiding lips to lips with a sweet slip-slide of tongue and tempered passion. They linger like this, breathing each other in, eyes shuttered closed and tasting old bloodshed in each other's sighs. They linger.

When they part it is to resume a gentle domesticity; Roger careful in his ministrations and Hani with his palms heavy on Roger's hips, silent and trusting.


End file.
